


Deep Sea Diving B-side: Wildehorne Season

by AidaRonan



Series: Deep Sea Diving [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: A fix it for Thor only, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Author is fat, But also a sorta fix it?, Fat!Bucky, Fat!Thor, M/M, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Rated T for language, cliffnotes summary of story so far in notes, fatphobia - see notes for details
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:01:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23225980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AidaRonan/pseuds/AidaRonan
Summary: When Thor tells Steve he can't find clothes that fit him anymore, Steve introduces him to Bucky.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Thor, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Thor
Series: Deep Sea Diving [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1633489
Comments: 48
Kudos: 327





	Deep Sea Diving B-side: Wildehorne Season

**Author's Note:**

> If you don't want to read the first two installments (or can't/don't read explicit), all you need to know to be caught up is that Bucky and Steve met on a hot summer day when Bucky strutted by him in "thirst trap" booty shorts, that they're together and have been for quite some time, that they're in love, and that Bucky knows and loves himself (and Steve loves him too, body and soul). 
> 
> The general idea here is that the events of Ragnarok mostly happened, but I have never met Thanos. Who is she? 
> 
> !!Fat friends!!, this chapter specifically touches on some internalized fatphobia as well as fatphobia in the clothing industry.

Something had happened on Asgard in the years since New York. Steve didn’t know what, and Thor didn’t seem to want to talk about it. All Steve knew was that one day Thor showed back up, and when he did, it was with an eyepatch, several ships full of Asgardians, and the kind of grief that Steve both understood and couldn’t begin to comprehend all at once.

Grief like when Steve lost his mother, like when he woke up 70 years away from everything and everyone he knew and loved. Grief like losing an entire planet, an entire way of life, thousands of years of culture and heritage—Steve could only imagine, and he knew imagination fell short.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Steve had told him, gently touching Thor’s arm and feeling it tense under his fingers. “But I need to ask if there’s something coming we should be prepared for.”

“Taken care of,” Thor had gritted out before turning back to survey his people where they huddled inside the ships. “At great cost.”

“Thor,” Steve had said then, even gentler than before. “If you do need to talk about it, when you’re ready, I’m your friend.”

Thor had nodded, clapped Steve on the arm, and squeezed. But he hadn’t talked about it, not then, not in the months since then. He’d found a place to settle the refugees—a beautiful place that had once worshipped them as gods. And then he’d handed the crown away and returned to haunt his rooms in Tony’s tower.

Steve though, Steve hadn’t lied.  
  


* * *

Jarvis lets him up to Thor’s floor, and Steve raps on the door with his knuckles.

When Thor opens up, he looks different than he had stepping off the Asgardian ships. He’s gained weight that sits around his middle, on his upper arms, and under his lush beard. His blond hair—shorn when he arrived—has gotten longer too. It puts Steve in the mind of the singer of that band, the one that sings that Teen Spirit song Bucky always hums along with when it comes on in a store.

The grief behind Thor’s one visible eye though, while still palpable, has faded. Steve smiles at that.

“You’re looking better.” Steve holds up a bag of takeout from the Ethiopian place near his and Bucky’s apartment. “I brought lunch.”

Thor steps aside and shuffles behind Steve all the way to the dining table, his house shoes gently sliding along the wooden floor.

“You’re lying, Steven,” Thor says. “Stark did install mirrors in this place. I know what I look like.”

“Then you should take another look.” Steve finds the dishes easily because they’re in the same place they were last week and the week before. “The shitty things that happen to us, they’re a weight, and they don’t get any lighter and they don’t go away. We just get stronger, better at carrying them around. You look stronger than you did last week.”

Steve dishes out doro wot and pieces of injera, then scoots a plate across the table to where Thor sits in sweat pants and a stretched out Stark Industries tee. Thor uses a bit of bread to scoop up the stew, his brows furrowed while he chews and swallows.

“You say I look stronger every week.”

“I mean it every week.”

Thor takes another bite, his frown deepening as the seconds turn into minutes.

“None of my favorite Earth stores have clothes that fit me anymore,” Thor finally says, looking down, as though this is a shameful admission on his part.

Steve’s jaw clenches. “Sounds like those stores have shitty business models.” A beat while he takes a breath, tearing his spongy flatbread into fourths. A tirade about the inherent fatphobia of the clothing industry is not what Thor needs right now, no matter how good the one Steve’s cooking up in his head might be. “I know someone who could take you to some better places.”

* * *

Bucky, because his boyfriend is a giant himbo idiot, is not given ample time to prepare to meet Thor, the literal god of thunder. Which is how he comes to meet Thor, the literal _God_ of _Thunder_ in a bright yellow Avengers onesie while sprawled out on his and Steve’s couch. A cartoon of Thor’s face is situated right over his left nipple, which is a fact Bucky is definitely not fixating on while he stares at the man currently occupying space next to his giant himbo idiot boyfriend.

“Buck, this is Thor.” Steve points, and Bucky bolts upright as though he’s 14 again and his mom just walked into the room while he was reading Sirius/Lupin fanfic on the family computer.

“Hello Bucky,” Thor says. “Nice pajamas.” And Bucky takes one look at the way Thor’s holding himself, like he’s trying to make his body seem smaller than it actually is, and thinks: fuck no, we’re not gonna do that when we can literally conjure lightning from the fucking sky with our hand or dick or whatever. (Wait, _can_ Thor shoot lightning from his dick? Is there any possible non-awkward and non-invasive way for Bucky to ask this question, like, ever? Unimportant. File that one away. We’ll circle back.)

“Thanks, me too,” Bucky says. “Though if _someone_ had given me a head’s up, I might’ve changed into something more fitting for company.” He shoots Steve a side-eye that gets him an _aw shucks_ shrug, and someday Bucky will have to stop being a sucker for that face. Someday is not today, unfortunately.

“What’s more fitting for company than Earth’s mightiest heroes?” Thor counters. Bucky smiles warmly. Great point, pal.

“So what brings Thor to our humble Brooklyn apartment today?” Bucky asks. “Not that your friends can’t come over whenever. Except for Tony. I need to make sure I’m at least 25% drunk before he gets here.”

“Uh.” Steve rubs at the back of his neck. Then he looks up, squares his shoulders, and plows on. “Thor’s having trouble with clothes.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow at that absolutely vague way of putting anything, then looks at Thor. The way Bucky sees it, people should be allowed to dress how they want to dress, whether they want to strut through Central Park in the shortest shorts or they just want to live every day feeling cozy and soft and swaddled. That all said, he can tell by looking at Thor’s outfit that it can’t be comfortable—the way the fabric is digging into his middle and his upper arms. It has to be unpleasant if it’s not outright painful.

“Steve.” Bucky looks at Captain Love-of-my-life and raises an eyebrow that begs for clarification.

“He can’t find clothes in his size at the places he used to shop.”

Bucky inhales deeply, counts to three, and exhales. By the end, he’s ready to throw Thor a warm smile.

“And you thought the best-dressed fat man in the five boroughs could help the man who’s about to surpass him.”

“Only if he wants,” Steve says.

“Of course he wants. I’m gonna go change.” Bucky gets up off the couch, goes to his closet, and checks the weather on his phone while he rifles through his clothes. Ultimately, he settles on turquoise joggers with “Fruit Punch” across the butt in rainbow script and a light white sweater that hangs off his shoulders. He’s too sore to wear his prosthetic today, so he rolls and pins the left arm into place. Bright yellow canvas shoes complete the look.

Back in the living room, Thor and Steve are now collectively making the couch look doll-sized, both talking about the merits of different Asgardian spirits and how many import laws Steve might be willing to break to try a whiskey aged in the belly of an-  
  
“Okay, I don’t want to hear where that’s going,” Bucky says, plopping down in Steve’s lap and handing him a hair tie. Bucky mastered the art of the one-handed ponytail ages ago, but if he does that, he doesn’t get Steve’s fingers lovingly brushing his scalp. A guy should always strive to fill his life with all the small joys he can.

“May I?” Thor asks, gesturing to Bucky’s hair. “As an advance show of gratitude.”

Bucky looks at Steve, who shrugs indulgently, and that’s how Bucky ends up with his hair half up and half down, some of it in a perfect bun, the rest hanging down past his shoulders with an occasional braid thrown into the mix.

“How’s it look?” Bucky asks, glancing at Steve. Steve licks his lips, his eyes flashing hot.

“It looks… really good.” Steve swallows, then forces his lips into a smile. “Most gorgeous guy I know.”

“Clothes then,” Bucky says, pointedly looking at Thor and avoiding Steve’s eyes lest they both embarrass themselves. “Do you know what kind of style you’re going for?”

Thor doesn’t know what kind of style he’s going for. Asgardians had their own fashion trends over the centuries (c e n t u r i e s, plural—Jesus Christ) he’s been alive, but he tells Bucky he doesn’t need that.

“I have a new home now, and I’m not a king any longer. I think I’d like to find something new.”

Well, no better place to start than some of Bucky’s favorite stores. So they begin at Avery’s, Steve sitting patiently and playing on his phone while Bucky loads Thor’s arms with shorts and yoga pants and crop tops and…

Thor emerges from the dressing room in his first outfit—lilac booty shorts with “goddess” in rhinestones across the butt, thigh high lilac and white socks, and a floral print cropped tank. Steve very aggressively clears his throat.

“How’s it feel?” Bucky asks, noting the way Thor’s chin is sitting a little higher than it had been back at the apartment.

“I feel like a female Wildehorne at the peak of mating season.”

“Which is how exactly?” Bucky asks.

“Desired by all who see me.” Thor turns and checks out his own ass in the mirror.

“Hell yes, you are the wildest horn in Brooklyn, pal.”

“That said, I hope I don’t offend you by saying I don’t think this is right for me.” Thor toys with the hem of the shorts. “I can see why it’s right for you though.”

“Hey, no offense taken. You look like the final round of a Hot Ones interview, but the point is to find the thing that makes you feel like you, whatever that is.”

Thor nods and disappears back into the dressing room. He tries on joggers and yoga pants and feels (and looks) hot in everything, but in the end, they leave with nothing.

Or well, okay, Bucky maybe gets the “goddess” shorts for himself. He knows what he deserves.

Onto the next.

Bucky bypasses a few of his other favorite haunts because they’re going to have a lot of similar items. Instead, he takes Thor to Jae’s. It has a wider variety and is where Bucky gets a lot of his more business appropriate clothes. Amongst other things.

Thor tries on slacks and jeans, nice see-through shirts embroidered with hibiscus flowers, and oversized cozy hoodies that hang to his knees.

“I know I’m helping,” Bucky says on their next round through the aisles, “but these are your clothes. If anything stands out and you think ‘I’d like to try that on,’ grab it.”

Thor does end up adding some shirts to the pile he and Bucky are working on. The only problem is that when they get to the dressing rooms, those shirts don’t seem to fit.

“Can I see what the problem is?” Bucky asks, when Thor announces for the third time that something doesn’t work. The tone of Thor’s voice is both concerning and one that Bucky is intimately familiar with. It’s Bucky with his mother shopping for school clothes at thirteen. Bucky with his high school friends who all stayed together giggling and picking out pieces to try on and share later on, all while Bucky had to go off and find the plus-sized section on his own. Shoved into the back corner, like he was a thing the store was ashamed to have in it, instead of a paying customer who looks damned hot in the right pair of jeans.

Jae’s isn’t like that—Bucky doesn’t fuck with places that are like that anymore because he knows that he and every other living, breathing human deserve better.

Even still, fuck if he’s gonna let someone else feel those old terrible feelings if he can help it.

Thor opens the door. The shirt’s stuck on the fat of his arms, and he clearly can’t get out of it. Without a word, Bucky steps into the dressing room and shuts the door.

“Here, I got ya.”

“I liked the shirt.” Thor sounds both sad and resigned. Free of the sleeves, he sinks down onto the changing room bench, staring down at the worn hardwood by his socks.

“Look,” Bucky says. “I know how it feels, and I might not know exactly what you’re thinking right now, but I can probably get pretty close. Sad fact is a lot of designers who make clothes for us ain’t us. They think they can make the waist bigger and don’t think about the arms. Or they don’t know the proper ratios of most fat people’s bodies. I don’t know which. Maybe both. Hell, maybe neither. At the end of the day all bodies of all sizes are different and our sizing system is ridiculous and imperfect—nothing more, nothing less. And if you genuinely like this, I will help you find one that is made better for you.”

“I’m not sure if I do or not.” Thor’s shoulders slump more, and Bucky has half a mind to go back to Avery’s just so Thor can look at himself in booty shorts again.

“Stay here.”

Bucky checks the designer on the tag, holds it up to get a sense of the cut, and then treks through the store until he finds something else. It’s a nice red plaid long sleeve, the fabric like the downy fur behind a kitten’s ears. He takes it back to Thor and slips it into the dressing room.

When Thor throws open the door, beaming, Bucky has a feeling they’ve started to find what they were looking for.

“How does it look?” Thor asks, turning around. And around. And around. Like he can’t get enough of himself at every angle. Bucky grins, because that’s exactly what he wants for his new friend. It’s a feeling everyone should be allowed to feel at least once.

“I’m getting major sexy mountain man lumberjack with a splash of big daddy bear vibes.”

“Oh, I love bears. They’re so cute with the ears.” Thor turns again and moves his body to see how the shirt moves with it. “And their little paws. Are there other colors in this one?”

There are. They get a rainbow of plaid shirts. They find jeans that fit the new heft of Thor’s thighs while highlighting the shapely muscles of his calves. They get a couple short sleeves too and cargo shorts on clearance. Plus boots, the kind that lace up and look like they wouldn’t be out of place on the side of a mountain.

“Just missing one thing,” Bucky says.

“What are we missing?” Thor wears a pair of jeans and one of his new shirts out of the store, his old outfit stuffed into one of the canvas bags hanging from Steve’s arms.

“You need jackets.”

“Of course,” Thor says. “Essential.”

And so they go to Aanal’s, where Thor’s so sure of himself that he barely needs Bucky at all. He consults him a couple of times when he has a hard time making a choice or isn’t sure which fit might look better, then selects two jackets—one a simple brown faux leather zip-up, the other a pale camel colored number with fringe.

They get fraps to celebrate, and Steve and Bucky walk Thor back to the tower.

“Thank you again, Bucky. Feel free to come with Steven the next time he stops by.” Thor leans casually on the door of his apartment with shopping bags around his feet. He’s not hunching in on himself anymore, not right now anyway.

“I’d like that,” Bucky says, and Thor smiles at him and Steve in turn before his brows start to pinch together.

“I think…” Thor takes a breath. “I think I’m ready to talk about what happened on Asgard. I think I’d like you both there when I do.”

“Then we will be,” Steve says. “We can stay now if you want.”

“Not now.” Thor shakes his head. “I need time to get my thoughts together.”

“Fair enough,” Bucky says.

“Just know you don’t have to wait for me to show up.” Steve reaches for him and pulls him into a hug. “I told you that we’re friends, and I meant it. You call if you need me. Us.”

“The same to you too, both of you.” Thor tugs Bucky into the hug, wrapping his arms around both him and Steve. Yesterday, Bucky could not have imagined anything in the universe that could make Steve as he is now seem small, but…

And then the hug is over, and Bucky’s holding Steve’s hand in the elevator down to the lobby.

“I hope that was okay,” Steve says. “I should’ve called first, I just…”

Bucky pulls Steve against him and kisses him on the jaw, then the cheek.

“Steve, it took a lot of time for me to get to where I am, a lot. If I can help somebody else get there faster and with less pain and lasting trauma, I absolutely wanna do that. Every time.” Bucky kisses him softly on the mouth before the elevator doors open. “But yes, when possible, you should probably let me mentally prepare. Or at least change out of my Avengers pajamas.”

“I should. Thank you for being honest. And thank you for helping my friend.”

They kiss one more time even though the elevator is wide open and there’s a young Stark Industries employee staring very intensely at their phone despite the fact that the screen isn’t even lit up.

When Bucky and Steve get back to their place, Bucky tries on the “goddess” shorts with a white cotton bralette, his hairstyle courtesy of Thor still firmly in place, save a few brunet strands escaping the small bun.

Steve looks him over reverently, then gets out his paints.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and a big thank you to my friends who let me steal their names for clothing stores. Thanks to everyone for the love you've given FatBucky since I started writing him earlier this year. I did not expect him to mean as much to me personally as he has, and I'm so glad other people are finding meaning in him too. 
> 
> Speaking of my darling boy, there's now [NSFW art](https://twitter.com/BuckyBabyboy/status/1240786987008786445?s=20) of him (and Steve) based on the first installment of DSD. 
> 
> If you so desire, you can find me on Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/BiStarBucky). 
> 
> Until next time, stay safe, drink water, and remember that every living human being who draws breath has inherent value and worth. That includes you. And no matter what is happening in this big, wide, chaotic world we live in, that fact remains constant and true.


End file.
